


Stop. Wait A Minute

by bornwithgasolineheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hangover, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, series of decisions we'll never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornwithgasolineheart/pseuds/bornwithgasolineheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awkward First Meeting Prompt<br/>“last night was a haze for both of us and somehow we woke up hungover in a bed that isn’t either of ours and also neither of us recognize this apartment we should probably get out of here before someone calls the cops on us”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop. Wait A Minute

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting something on AO3, un-betaed, all mistakes are mine, go easy on me, do not own Supernatural, yadda yadda. Enjoy!

Prompt [here](http://auprompts.tumblr.com/post/129049875909/aus). Original post [here](http://bornwithgasolineheart.tumblr.com/post/134941462093/one-shot-stop-wait-a-minute)

* * *

 

 

Dean Winchester loved drinking and he liked to think he could hold his liquor.

 

He downed beers instead of drinking water on good days for crying out loud. So yeah, he drank a lot and he prouded himself for being able to hold just as much.

 

He loved drinking, but hell if he didn’t despise the morning afters.

 

They were terrible.

 

Made to be the purest form of torture.

 

Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

 

Like ever.

 

The worst thing about the morning afters was, just when you thought you’ve been through enough of them and you’ve known every possible level of ache, that you’ve gotten used to the aftermaths- you have one like this. The Mother of morning afters.

 

Yes, Dean was dying. He was being murdered. He had been kidnapped by Jigsaw and was locked in an industrial washroom, where he was tortured by having glass shard, nails, screwdrivers and everything else hammered into his exposed brain. If demons could write poems about the most unthinkable torture in the world they would have waxed lyrical about the pain behind his eyeballs and bow before it, while itty bitty feathery angel dicks dance around them, singing ‘Hallelujah!”

 

The fact that his brain just came up with that was the sole evidence of why it is never a good idea to let Mabe- Ape- no, wait, it was something with G, Grem- Gad- Gay- GABRIEL!- lure you out of your nice, cozy and choke-full of aspirin apartment.

 

Dean groaned and tried to sit up slowly- keyword ‘tried’- not wanting to open his eyes yet. Or at all. He didn’t even know where he was. For all he could muster, he was laying on a soft cushion. What were the chances of him waking up, by some miracle, in his apartment?

 

Damn, his head didn’t love him right now. And his liver for that matter.

 

He was ready to call a friggin’ exorcist for the fucking head-ache, because c’mon, that can’t be normal, when he realized there was something plastered on top of him. And whatever it was, he wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive for a second.

 

His bloodshot eyes flew open and he sat up in panic and yeah the world went sideways and then, nope, it was right side up again, because fuck you for what you did to me, and the bright harsh light made him regret the day he licked alcohol for the first time. His stomach made a few flip-flops, like a fish set free in the water, and thank whatever-it-was-upstairs that he didn’t throw up at this moment.

 

He slowly focused his bleary eyes on the warm body, stretched across his stomach, face first, and almost squeezed them shut again. Since when was hallucinating part of a hangover?

 

The body was slightly slimmer than him, long and lean, shoulders well-toned and all he could see from his head was the wild mop of dark hair. There was a cat, curled between his shoulder blades that looked unimpressed with them.

 

Dean did a double-take when he realized there was a semi-naked man, lying almost on top of his crotch in the most ridiculous pose possible to pull out, while the only barriers between them were said man’s pink pj bottoms and a very modest blanket covering Dean’s groin, because he couldn’t feel his own underwear on him.

 

Awkward couldn’t even begin to cover the situation.

 

In a feeble attempt to find even one string of logic behind the entire situation Dean looked around and, yes, there they are, his boxer shorts... And the rest of his clothes... And the stranger’s...

 

Dean groaned, his hands coming up to cover and possible wipe away his face and shame.

 

Dear God, how much did he drank?

 

Like he had said earlier, Dean liked to believe he could hold his liquor very well. It had been a year since he had done anything that stupid while drunk and even longer since he had been  _that_  drunk.

 

If that was so, then where did the memory of last night go?

 

His train of thoughts was disturbed by the man stirring up and a deep gravelly groan resonating between them, causing all of Dean’s blood to went south, because what’s even better in a situation as awkward as this one than an inappropriate boner.

 

With the last surviving bits of brain he panicked and berated himself,  _Not now, you idiot! This is totally not the moment to pop a boner! Think about something disgusting, like, uhm... like naked grandmas or-or naked Sammy!_

 

That actually did it. I was awful and disgusting, but it did it.

 

The man shifted and made a weak attempt to get up. It was about that time he realized that he was laying on something kind-of alive, Dean to be more exact. His head jolted up and Dean was suddenly face to face with the bluest blue to ever blue on Earth.

 

His brain simply short circuited after that. All he could do was run through various names of Crayola crayons trying to match that fucking jaw-dropping shade of blue. Cornflower? Cerulean? Benedict Cumberblue? Periwinkle? Celestial blue? Who the hell actually had eyes that color? Apparently this guy here. 

 

And to top that, his hair made him look like he had been fucked six ways to Sunday and then sideways.

 

Speaking of that, Dean was pretty sure nothing happened between them, even if he was naked and the dude was smoking hot. At least he still had his pants on which couldn’t be said for Dean. 

 

“Who the Hell are you?” Dean cringed when his voice came out high and squeaky. He wasn’t going through puberty for fuck’s sake, his voice needed to get a grip.

 

"I’m pretty sure I’m the one who has to ask," the dude rasped, looking just a tad greener. He suddenly hissed and rubbed his temples vigorously, and Dean thought that, maybe, this guy might be more hungover than him. Maybe.

 

That was a very nice voice though, and inappropriate thoughts sprang to his mind.  _At least nothing else springs- no, Dean, down boy,_ he warned himself, mentally slapping his brain. He was going to fucking behave like a grown-up for once.

 

The cat meowed, still unimpressed with them, the furry menace.

 

The slimmer man clapped his hand over his mouth, mumbling, “Excuse me,” then almost tripped over himself as he dislodged the beast off him and sprinted back into the other, still unknown part of apparently the dude’s apartment. The sound of painful retching followed rapidly.

 

Dean sat up slowly, testing the waters. His body ached and creaked and _yeah_ , those were a few unsettling _pops_  coming from his joints as he twisted a bit, the sounds worthy of a part in Jurassic Park movie. The nausea was strong, but still not enough to make him pray to the porcelain god. He couldn’t say the same for the smaller man though. The heaving sounded painful even from here, so he went to check on him. He crashed on his bed. The least he could do as a decent human being was make sure the he was okay.

 

From his college experience he knew it was never a fun thing, not that anything was funny in the morning after being on a bender, to be alone while puking your insides out and getting to know your toilet from up close.

 

Apparently, the guy had become best friends with the porcelain throne if Dean had to judge by the way he was gripping it.

 

He stood awkwardly at the door’s frame, feeling like he was forgetting something, "Hey, you okay there?"

 

The man gestured him closer, and Dean went for it, a little hesitant, until his ear was by his mouth, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

 

Dean’s mind screeched to a stop, because damn the little dude should be a phone sex operator. Then he remembered words, oh yeah, he did needed those. “’kay, how about I ask you for your name then?”

 

“Castiel.”

 

Dean tsked, “Kind of mouthful, you mind if I just call you Cas?”

 

“Cas?”

 

“If you don’t like it I could-”

 

The man smirked and croaked, “I don’t mind. It’s better than what my brother calls me.”

 

“Which is what?” Dean chuckled.

 

“Uh-uh. Not sharing that bit of information,” Castiel, Cas, laughed and it was a beautiful, rich sound that summoned a giant Mothra in Dean’s stomach. Cas looked like he was about to add something, but he gagged and his face went all ‘nope’ before he was emptying his stomach again. Dean reached out and tentatively clasped the man’s shoulder. When his hand wasn’t brushed off he slowly started to rub his back, humming.

 

“This is a lot worse than I remember it to be,” Cas said in between two dry heaves.

 

“Same here, dude, same here,” Dean absent-mindedly scratched his stubble. “You might need to dawn a whole bottle of aspirin for your head-ache.”

 

After a few moments of just dry coughing Cas deemed himself done and tried to stand, but didn’t even get halfway before his legs gave in. Dean managed to slip an arm around him and saved him from ending face first into the toilet and his own puke.

 

He helped him to the built-in kitchen and, seeing there were no visible chairs around them, up on the counter. The cat jumped next to him and meowed. Castiel’s hand went to pet the little beast, half-minded.

 

Something in Dean’s brain suddenly clicked and he held out his hand.

 

“I’m Dean by the way.”

 

Cas looked at him through his lashes, and damn if it didn’t made Dean want to buy dozens of Crayola packs just to find that stupid shade of blue, and took his hand. His grip was sure and firm even after puking his guts mere moments ago.

 

“Well, you already know my name so-” suddenly Cas’s eyes darted a little downwards, his lips forming a surprised little ‘o’ and he blushed.

 

Dean’s mind immediately went into ‘oh shit’ mode and he scrambled to cover himself a little, because of course his boxers would still be in the other end of the room.

 

“Fuck, sorry dude, I’m just- shit, uhm, I’ll just- I’ll just go grab my pants.” He awkwardly darted toward his missing underwear’s location, stumbling a little as he clumsily managed to put it on.  _Nice first impression, real graceful today, are we, Winchester?_ “I’m really sorry, dude.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen.” Cas seemed to remember something because he cringed and added in a haunted voice, “Not the weirdest by a long shot.”

 

Dean couldn’t help and he barked out a laugh.

 

Castiel winced at the volume, clutching his head and Dean immediately lowered his voice, “Sorry, Cas, I’ll bring you some water.”

 

He took two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with water. He handed one of them to Cas and downed half of his own in one gulp.

 

There was a flash of something Castiel’s shoulder blade when he moved his arm and Dean craned his neck to see, and yep, it was a tattoo.

 

“Dude, I think you got a tattoo while you were drunk.”

 

“What?” the smaller man choked and looked down at himself, searching for the ink.

 

“It’s on your back,” and no, Dean wasn’t stifling laughter right now.

 

“Oh, the wings?” Cas suddenly calmed down. He motioned with his hand vaguely, “They were there before that.”

Dean gaped, “Dude, can I see it?”

 

“If your eyes still aren’t burnt out do go on.” Wow, Cas did have a bite in him. “It’s nothing special.”

 

 _Nothing special my ass,_  Dean thought. The magnificent pair of wing covered the whole expanse of his toned back, ink black, sharp, very detailed, somehow very Cas-like. And he did appreciate the view. 

 

Yep, Dean might have developed a new fetish, seeing the sharp shoulder-blades and hip-bones.

 

“Dude, don’t pull that card on me. It’s fuckin’ awesome.”

 

Cas smiled shyly, “Thanks, I guess. It’s kind of family tradition or at least between me and my siblings. I could say the other ones are quite flashier than mine.”

 

“Well, yours suits your name. Castiel’s the angel of Thursday, right?”

 

There was a flash of surprise in the blue eyed man. “How did you know?”

 

“Well,” Dean blushed. Like a friggin’ 13 year-old girl, because what even is his life anymore? “My mother used to tell me stories about angels and shit when I was little. She always said that angels are watching over me. I guess it just stuck with me.”

 

Cas’s eyes mellowed a little as he stared at him and Dean felt heat rising to his cheeks. He shuffled and asked the first thing to come to his mind, “So, why ‘Castiel?” he cringed when he realized how awful that sounded and added, “That is if you only don’t mind?”

 

“Of course not,” Cas answered, taking a sip from his water. “My parents were religious and named my sibling after the Archangels, but when I was born they wanted to name me after not so well known angel. That’s how they came up with this.”

 

Castiel looked kind of embarrassed, blushing as he looked away, and Dean quickly grasped his shoulder. “Dude, your name is awesome, trust me. It’s unique!”

 

He looked back at him, wide-eyed, “Thank you, I guess.”

 

“Well, for a long time I thought my mother named me after James Dean, but it was actually after my grandmother, Deanna.”

 

There was a long moment of silence that surprisingly wasn’t awkward. It was just them, looking at each other and smiling softly. And, of course, the moment was gone when a new wave of pain hit Dean’s forehead. He groaned.

 

“Hey Cas, sorry to bother you, but where do you keep the aspirin?” he managed to ask through gritted teeth, because all he needed right now was kind-of-dangerous amount of black coffee, greasy breakfast and aspirin.

 

Cas looked over the glass’s edge at him, blinking confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“The aspirin? Please, tell me you have some, or at least ibuprofen!”

 

Castiel stared at him for a long moment, his hand stilling in the cat’s fur, and then, with barely audible voice, he asked, “Dean, we  _are_  in your apartment, right?”

 

Stop. Wait a minute.

 

In the matter of seconds, Dean’s minds went through fifty different stages of confusion, realization, and then, panic. “Oh shit,” he mumbled and Castiel’s face mirrored his expression.

 

As if waiting for its cue, there was a sound of dangling keys outside the apartment and Dean had never ran so fast with a hangover in his live, while gathering random clothes and shoes from the ground, Cas hot on his heels.

 

He opened the window, leading towards the fire escape and jumped out. He sprinted down a few floors, before screeching to a stop, causing Cas to ram against his back, because he sure as Hell knew that view.

 

“Dude, I think I know where we are,” he said quickly and Castiel’s muffled, “What?” was his only response. Dean hastily pulled on his shoes and said, “Put on your shoes and follow me.”

 

Castiel did as he was told and soon they were running up another fire escape on the same building towards the fifth floor. Dean then stopped, panting, because it was just too early for this shit, and motioned to Cas to come closer. The bastard didn’t even look like he was straining under all of the physical activities.

 

The larger man looked through the window, eyes searching and when he saw a silhouette in the living room, he knocked on the glass.

 

Said silhouette, who was tensely sitting on a couch, staring down a phone, jolted up and looked around in confusion. When his looked at the window Dean waved with one hand and mouthed, “’Sup?”

 

The taller figure stormed over the now-looking-all-too-fragile glass and opened it with a flourish. “Dean, what the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

Dean grinned, “Hey, Sammy, mind if you let me in?”

 

“Why are you naked?” Sam stepped aside, still fuming, and Dean pulled off his boots and jumped inside his place. “C’mon,” he beckoned Cas in and the smaller man precariously followed his example of stripping off his shoes.

 

“Why is he half-naked? Dean, where have you been?” Sam, apparently, had decided to start on the subject about Cas later. “You’ve been gone the whole night and major part of yesterday, you didn’t pick up your phone or check your messages! I was ready to call the cops! And to top that Gabe called me in the middle of the night that you and his little brother found a liquor store, drank it and went MIA-”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Samantha, I’m fine, but I have no idea about the elf’s brother.” Dean made his way to the open window on the opposite end of the room and leaned to look outside. When his eyes landed on the sleek, black muscled car in front of the building, he said, “There’s my baby.”

 

“Uhm... Baby?” came the Cas’s tentative voice. “As a human infant? Or as a girlfriend?”

 

Dean flushed.

 

“No, it’s my car. '67 Chevy Impala.” He felt how Sam was struggling and failing not to laugh at him, totally ignoring his previous anger in favour of making fun of his big brother.

 

He turned around just to see his moose of a brother turning to face Cas, who looked a bit like a cat, petted the wrong way, and then faced with a giant 6’4” tall dog. It was kind of hilarious.

 

“So rude of me,” he offered his hand. “I’m Sam, the short and bossy Rapunzel’s brother.”

 

“Castiel,” he accepted the moose’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

 

Sam did a double-take and then inquired, “Cassie?”

 

Castiel groaned with a long-suffering face, that only younger siblings could pull out, “You’ve met one of my brothers I take?”

 

Sam shrugged, “Well, I’m kind of dating one of your brothers.”

 

Dean gaped at Cas, “Wait, you’re Gabriel’s brother. Like Gabriel Novak’s brother?” What in the ever loving fuck?

 

“Unfortunately,” Cas’s answer was as dry as Sahara.

 

“Oh God,” Dean burst out laughing. “Dude, all this time, when Gabe talked about you I thought you were a chick!”

 

Castiel arched his eyebrow in a very familiar way and remarked, “It’s okay to be slower with thinking. A lot of people have similar problems. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

Dean choked and spluttered in disbelief. That little bastard!

 

“Dude, what the Hell happened?” Sam asked again, sounding irritated.

 

 _Cat’s out of the bag,_  Dean thought as braced himself for the eternity of teasing he was going to receive and started to tell the story of how he and Cas woke up in a stranger’s apartment just few floors away from them.

 

At the end of it Sam forgot what breathing was, because of the bent-over-hands-on-knees fit of laughter he was currently having, the little shit. He barely whizzed, “I’ll- oh God- I’ll call Gabe... that you’re both alive,” and snatched his phone before heading towards his room, still trying to remember how breathing worked.

 

Finally left alone, they decided to sort out the clothes they had snatched in their little stunt. Dean had grabbed his shirt, jeans and something that was apparently Cas’s trench coat. Fortunately, Castiel had snatched Dean’s leather jacket and t-shirt. Cas’s pyjama top and their socks were nowhere to be seen.

 

“C’mon dude,” he looped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, trying to brighten his mood. Apparently the top was one of the smaller man’s favourites. “Why don’t you take a shower while I’ll find you some clothes and make you a hangover cure?”

 

Cas nodded, the prospect of shower and greasy food good enough to make him smile, and Dean clapped his shoulder, before pointing the bathroom’s door. “You go in and I’ll leave the clothes in front of the door.”

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel smiled softly and then entered the bathroom, shutting the door. For a long moment Dean just stared at it until the sound of water running tore him away from his trance and he headed into his bedroom.

 

What even was his life anymore?

 

By some miracle he managed to dig out one of his older AC/DC t-shirts, a pair of smaller jeans and, thanks to Sammy’s last shopping trip, the giant girl he was, new clean boxer shorts.

 

He then filled two cups of water- again- and gulped such amount of aspirin that could be described as ‘are you fuckin’ suicidal?’ and then concentrated on making them both a breakfast so greasy, that would probably cause them heart attacks before the pills do. Damn, he could feel Sam’s judgment from here.

 

He had just finished frying the strips of bacon when the bathroom door opened and Castiel stepped out, hair damp and wild. The worn out t-shirt was stretched around the neck, revealing an obscene amount of collarbone and Dean’s jeans hung low on his hips. 

 

He was hot... and somehow adorable at the same time. He was like a little teddy bear. Dean just wanted to stuff him in his pocket and take him home with him.

 

Cas joined him in the kitchen and Dean motioned at the life-savers and glass of water.

 

His lips twitched with amusement and he asked, “The whole bottle, right?”

 

Dean smirked back at him and beckoned with, “Make yourself comfortable,” to which the smaller man answered by hoisting himself on the counter, the whole situation a mirror to their earlier morning.

 

He then handed Cas a plate, filled with eggs, bacon and pancakes. Castiel took it gratefully and they ate in companionable silence for a few minutes until he moaned around what must have been a particularly good pancake, making Dean almost choke on his bite.

 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, looking slightly concerned, probably debating if he needed to go over and perform CPR on him. Dean had nothing against it, but still took a long drink of his water, shaking his head. If he was going to ask someone on a date he really preferred not to do it in a hospital, sue him.

 

“’m fine,” Dean finally managed to choke out. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

 

Cas squinted at him and tilted his head, clearly not believing him, and okay now he just looked like a cat that’s wondering if it should scratch someone.

 

_Don’t wuss out now, Winchester!_

 

Dean set down his plate and turned to ask his companion, "So Cas... you busy today?"

 

"No, it’s my day off, why?" Cas looked completely taken aback by the abrupt change in subject.

 

"I was wondering if you want to watch a movie, that’s mindless enough to get through on a hangover, and eat pie. And if somewhere between now and the end of the movie you decide if you want to go out for dinner with me?"

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, "Are you asking me out?"

 

Dean fidgeted under the scrutinizing stare. “Maybe? I mean... If you don’t want to or-”

 

“I would like that very much, Dean,” Cas smiled, wide and gummy.

  
Dean was rendered speechless. And he might have or might have not just thrust his fist in the air like Judd Nelson at the end of the Breakfast Club and whooped. Scratch the beginning, he never felt so happy to wake up.

 


End file.
